


Seasonal Work

by Anonymous



Category: DDT Pro-Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Porn, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Kota has some sex he doesn't really enjoy but it's not a big focus, Language Barrier, M/M, Porn, Rough Oral Sex, bottomKenny, secret job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 14:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17644865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kota wrestles and also does porn. He tries very hard not to mix the two.





	Seasonal Work

**Author's Note:**

> My I offer you a nice pornstar au in this trying time?
> 
> I don't know if the world was really crying out for Kenny Omega gangbang fic, but now it exists and you just clicked on it. 
> 
> Please read the tags, there is no shame in back-buttoning if this is not to your taste.

The air was just beginning to freeze in Tokyo that fall when Kota misjudged a somersault and ruined his day, month and life in one fell swoop.

His foot caught on a flat screen television which wobbled and then fell over into a second flat screen television which fell into a third flat screen television, and so on and so forth for the next seven televisions proudly displayed on the shop floor.

Kota opponent's quick reflexes pulled him out of the collapse zone in time and he escaped unhurt. Only to be chased from the premises by the manager of the electronics section who shouted himself blue in the face until they, the referee, the cameraman, the fans and the DDT president had all fled. The department store wrestling match ending hastily in a double count out DQ.

"It wasn't your fault!" Takagi spluttered in outrage, "Who lines TV's up like dominoes that way? They were going to fall sooner or later! It was an accident waiting to happen! We're not paying them damages! No chance!"

"It's okay," said Kota, "I'll pay for it, I was the one who caused it."

"I can't ask you to do that! It's too much even for the company to pay you know? We’ll go bankrupt."

Kota knew, that’s why he couldn’t let them pay for his clumsiness.

On the surface of it, an outsider might have been fooled into thinking that Kota’s parents approved of his wrestling career, but that outsider would have been wrong. The silent question, ‘When are you going to stop wasting your life Kota?’ had hung unspoken over their weekly family dinners for the last four years and counting. He would rather have done anything then ask them for this much money. Most of his fellow wrestlers had jobs on the side. They moonlighted as bartenders, personal trainers or professional hosts but Kota never had been very good at customer service. Besides, with the kind of wage they were offering he’d still be paying for those damn televisions when he was thirty.

A week after the department store incident, Kota was staring at the employment ads on the notice board outside Shin-Kiba station when a stranger in a big coat sidled up to him. 

The man in the coat promised good pay for a handsome young man like him, if he could be discreet. Kota, unenthused at the prospect of anything on the notice board and very little sense of self preservation, showed up the next day at the time and place the coat man had given him, hoping that he hadn’t just been recruited for the Yakuza. It was the only career that could would have appalled his parents more than wrestling. 

It turned out to just be porn. They were shooting porn in one of the empty warehouses down by the docks. At least small talk wouldn’t be a requirement, and touching people who were barely more than strangers was already something he did on a nightly basis. All the same, that first shoot was more difficult than Kota had anticipated. Very different from wrestling.

He lurked at the back of the room, though the naked lightbulb hanging overhead left no dark corner to hide in while three other men had their way with the shrill young actress. When Kota was ushered forward, he hesitated, frozen with panic so entirely that the woman on the bed broke character and roared with laughter at the expression on his face. Kota hoped they would edit out that part.

“You’re lucky you have such a nice body,” she told him afterwards, sucking on a cigarette, “They’ll probably call you back anyway. Body is what matters in this business, you’ll get over your nerves soon enough.”

They did call him back. Kota counted the money they had given him before, it was about half of a ridiculously over-priced flat screen TV.

He thought about it, and then agreed to come back the next week.

 

It was just him and one woman the second time. She was at least a decade older than Kota, maybe more. If she was bothered by his awkwardness, she didn’t show it, instead leading him through the shoot with the skill of a master, gently positioning him as not to block the camera’s view, kindly not mentioning it when he knelt on her foot accidentally.

“You’ve got so much energy,” she said when she caught him doing standing somersaults on the mattress while the camera crew took a break. “If you give half the effort you put into that flip into fucking me, maybe we can finish this video on schedule.”

He tried but it wasn’t the same, he’d never been anxious about doing a somersault.

 

Kota was invited back to the warehouse for a third time in mid-December, covering his face with a thick scarf and taking care to stay off the main roads on his walk from the Shin-Kiba train station. He arrived to find a gaggle of men shuffling awkwardly in the snow outside the door in preparation for another gang bang video.

Kota didn’t mind, though it paid considerably less than the one-on-one shoot. He loitered at the back again, ordered forward when a more acrobatic position was called for. Kota could lift the heroine up into the air easily. She was young and athletic, with a strong set of abdominal muscles. The director posed them in ever more elaborate ways, irritated when he came up with something too ambitious even for Kota to hold alone. Another man, some muscled foreigner, was called forward to support the woman’s legs. Kota ended up squashed between the two of them. 

 _“So, do you do this often?”_  the man asked when filming was over.

“I don’t speak English,” said Kota, pulling his socks back on warily.

“Do again?” the man asked, this time in poorly pronounced Japanese.

“I hope not,” said Kota “that last position killed my calves.” 

He smiled but Kota wasn’t sure he actually understood, so he pointed at his legs and mimed pain.

“Oh, yeah! Ow! Yeah!”

“Yeah,” Kota confirmed. 

“What’s your name?”

Kota turned from lacing his shoes to look at the man incredulously.

“I’d rather not tell you, if you don’t mind. Privacy.” The man’s expression scrunched in confusion. Kota spoke slowly. “No names.”

“Oh.”

The conversation ended.

 

Three TV’s down, seven to go.

“Have you got anything that pays better?” Kota asked the man in the big coat.

They did.

 

The woman with the whip was very eager. Perhaps she saw something in Kota she didn’t like, or something she liked a lot. In any case, Kota really felt he’d earned his money by the end of the shoot.

 _He_ was hanging around that day too. Kota met him in what passed for the front office after he’d finished being whipped to within an inch of his life.

“So… you like this?” The man made a whip gesture and accompanying sound effect. Kota pretended not to understand the question. No one else here had this weird compulsion for chit chat. Let alone about such personal topics.

 “Why are you here?” he asked the foreigner.

“Filming, after you. Was okay?”

Kota pulled up his sweater to show the red lines on his lower back. The man let out a low whistle.

“Ice?”

“Yeah, if there is some around.” Kota’s next wrestling match was in a weeks’ time. He could wear a t-shirt at the gym and training until then, but if they were still there the night of the show, he would get questions.

The foreigner went outside and came back grinning with a snowball in hand. Kota laughed though it made his back ache and accepted the gift. 

 

The blond man had rope burn on his arms when Kota saw him again a few days later. They didn’t have the opportunity for another broken conversation, instead the man was led off into the back room on arrival and Kota had the dubious pleasure of hearing him act badly through the thin metal wall. The sheer volume of the noises far too loud to ignore. Kota’s cheeks were red by the time his turn came. He didn’t know why it should be more embarrassing to hear them second hand than make to the sounds himself, but it was.

There was a set today, and props; a school desk and chalk board. Kota squeezed into the former while a beautiful middle-aged woman in an extremely short skirt started teaching him calculus. It ended with Kuriko-sensei bending him over the desk and walloping him with a long metal ruler. It wasn’t Kota’s position of choice, but he’d gotten hard waiting outside, trying to think about anything but the noises coming from the room, and so his body played along. 

“Do people really pay so much for this?” he asked afterwards.

The man in the coat shrugged while he counted out 5,000-yen bills. “The weirder it is, the more they pay for it.”

Pain was such a big part of wrestling; Kota was no stranger to it. Pain didn’t inspire the same uncanny, disconnected arousal that he’d come to associate with the shoots. Being beaten up in gratuitous fashion came so much more naturally, made him so much less nervous, and he didn’t find himself standing under the shower for nearly as long afterwards.

“Would you like to go for dinner with me?” asked the foreigner later that week. He asked so formally and with such impeccable, practiced grammar that Kota found himself agreeing without a thought.

Kota took him to a restaurant a few streets away, still in the warehouse district. It had a reputation among the DDT wrestlers as a good place for cheap, large, protein-heavy meals. The surroundings were dingy, but the prices were unbeatable. Despite the affected formality of his invitation, the blond man was his usual bouncy self, his mouth springing into a smile as he sat across from Kota, devouring his beef bowl with loud enjoyment.

“Wow this is delicious! So, where do you live?”

“Do you want my date of birth and credit card number while you’re at it? I’m not telling you. It’s private.” Kota could see the man’s eyes squinting in concentration, as if by looking hard enough, Kota’s mouth would magically produce a speech bubble that he could read. “…I live in Tokyo,” Kota said finally, putting him out of his misery.

“Oh cool!” He wasn’t put off at all by the vagueness of Kota’s answer.  

“Where do you live?” Kota echoed back.

“I live in Tokyo. How old are you?”

“681,026.” He could see the man struggling again and felt cruel. “I’m twenty-five,” he said finally. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-four.”

Memorized phrase book questions exhausted, they fell back on two-word broken sentences and miming. During this, Kota learned that the man didn’t like beer, did like coffee and that when he was lost for words, he ran his top teeth over his bottom lip, his mouth unable stay still even when he had nothing to say.  

Kota couldn’t stop looking at the rope burns on his arm.

“What’s your name?” He had to ask, it was ridiculous to keep thinking of him as well, _him_. The denomination almost gave him too much power in Kota’s mind.

“My name is Kenny,” he said happily, his heavy foreign accent shoving in vowels where they had no business being. He didn’t ask for Kota’s name in return. Kota wouldn’t have given it.

 

“Here is half the amount we owe them now and I’ll give you the other half at the end of the month.”

The president was so overjoyed he didn’t question where Kota had gotten the money, only Michael Nakazawa looked at it twice, narrowing his eyes in suspicion and pulling Kota aside in the crowded bar.

“Where did you get all that money? Did you get a job?”

“No…”

“Ah then your parents finally came around and gave it to you? What did you give them? When’s the wedding?”

“I didn’t promise to get married.”

“So, where’d all that money come from?”

Kota didn’t answer.

“Well...” said Michael, “If you’re just magically rich now all of a sudden, you’ll have no problem paying the tab tonight, right?”

“No problem,” said Kota stubbornly. Michael was far too cunning sometimes.

There was a stark difference in Kota’s mind between pride and dignity. Following through on your word was a pride thing, it meant being honorable, not letting others down, conducting your actions in accordance with your words as best you could. Dignity was something out of your control, like slipping on a patch of ice or breaking ten televisions accidentally. Though Kota was short on dignity, he still had his pride and so he paid the tab even though it set him back a whole 25% of a flat screen TV.

He hit more bad luck towards the end of the month, landing badly on his right leg after a dive to the outside of the ring. He was too hurt to wrestle but not too hurt to work.

 

“Hi! How are you?”

“Dreadful. How are you?”

Kenny laughed, “Bad,” he admitted. Kenny looked thinner than Kota remembered from the last time they had been naked in front of each other. Not thin, just thinner. He was still all muscle. A fact Kota became acutely aware of during filming when he had to admit to the director that he couldn’t lift the star actress on his injured leg.

“I can do it,” Kenny offered before anyone could get angry. 

The actress was a buxom woman with dyed purple hair and long red nails. She could do some quite creative things with her tongue. During the shoot however, Kota found his eyes drifting past her to Kenny who held her securely around the waist and watched her jerk off two guys at once with admiration. At one point he looked up and noticed Kota watching him watching her. Kota felt himself go deep red and looked pointedly at the woman’s breasts. He didn’t dare look back at Kenny again.

 

Ultimately, Kota had no one to blame but himself for how things turned out. He was the one who’d shown Kenny the beef bowl restaurant in the first place, the same beef bowl restaurant that the wrestlers of DDT reliably rolled into on the nights after shows.

On a journey from their little collection of tables to the bar, he was intercepted.

" _Hey!_ _I mean_ , hello!" Kenny yelled happily in English and then Japanese, waving his hand to get Kota's attention. "It's been a while!"

"Yes," said Kota, mentally freezing.

"How are you?"

"I'm doing well."

"That's good."

“Excuse me, sorry,” Kota said, and dashed out of sight. Maybe the smartest move would be to leave now. His friends probably hadn’t noticed him talking to Kenny, if he left quickly, no one would have an opportunity to.

When he returned to the table it was to find the situation had escalated from bad to disastrous.

Kenny was talking to Michael Nakazawa, face bright and sentences flowing easily.

Kota had never crossed a room faster.

_"-Ah yeah we do wrestling shows a few streets away from here, you should come and see some time, there's one next Tuesday."_

_"That's really cool! I used to do a bit of wrestling, but it didn't work out in the end. It’s a really hard industry to make a living in but I did love it."_

_"Definitely come and watch then,"_ Nakazawa encouraged.

"What are you two talking about?" Kota demanded.

"Woah, are you alright? We're just talking about the show, going to call the police on us?" asked Michael jokingly.

"What!? No! No, I mean...I was just… wondering what you were saying."

Michael slapped him on the back and returned to the conversation with Kenny, switching to Japanese as to not exclude Kota, speaking simply as not to lose Kenny.

"So, what job do you do?"

"I'm kind of… between."

"What kind of work though?"

"Oh, I do porn," said Kenny bluntly.   

"Wow that’s crazy! What like actual porn?" exclaimed Michael.

"Yeah, it's weird sometimes, but... pay is good. I don’t… I don’t like working in offices," he said finally, as though that more than explained his life choices.

Kota could feel his life crumbling around him. Had Michael seen them talking? Was he still thinking about the money? Was he going to put two and two together?

"But, wrestling," Kenny said excitedly, "I want to talk about wrestling, Your wrestling. What kind is it?”

Michael talked for the next few minutes in a mix of English and Japanese, with Kenny nodding along and asking questions. Kota's panic lessened slightly. Kenny excused himself not long after that, claiming he didn’t want to miss his last train home. He cast Kota a loaded glance before he left but said nothing incriminating. As soon as the restaurant door jangled behind him, Michael turned to Kota eyebrows raised.

“Can you believe that guy is a porn star!?  An actual porn star!? That’s super weird! Holy shit that was insane!”

“Why is it so hard to believe?” said Kota defensively, “It’s not that weird.”   

“Yes it is! He was cool though! Do you think he knows lots of hot women?”

“Probably not.”

“What’s wrong? Do you not like him?”

“Nah he’s okay,” said Kota awkwardly.

“How big do you think his dick is?”

Kota wished the ground would swallow him up.

 

“I wanted to talk to you,” Kenny said, hopping from one foot to another to keep warm as they waited to be let into the warehouse. “Before, I was talking to your friend. You were scared right? Because I was talking to Michael? You don't want anyone to know you do porn?"

Kota shook his head.

"I didn't tell anyone. Never! It’s your secret. I… I never want to get you in trouble. Okay?" Kenny said gently, tugging his hat further down over his ears, little springs of golden hair still escaping out from under it. “I won’t tell anyone.”

"Your Japanese is really getting better," Kota replied. It felt funny to have made a friend in these circumstances, but now seeing Kenny expression of relief, Kota realised that he had.

 

By late February, Kota was only one TV short of his goal and a week away from returning to the ring. Freedom was close enough to touch.

"If you have a problem with the content of the shoot, you can turn it down," the voice on the phone said. “We’ll pay you extra of course, if you don’t mind doing it.”

The offered rate for gay porn was even higher than he'd been getting for the fetish stuff, and it wasn’t like he'd enjoyed any of it particularly. All of it was cold and weird and so divorced from what Kota thought of as real sex. No doubt it would be cold and weird with a man just like it was cold and weird with a woman. As long as he could get it up (and Kota was confident that if he managed it for Kuriko-sensei and her horrible metal ruler he could get it up for anyone) there was no reason to pass up easy money.  Kota accepted the offer. It would be the last time.

All in all, Kota thought it had gone rather well. In just three months he had made the money he’d needed, without having to fall back on his parents or spend long hours dashing around at the beck and call of customers. After this, life would settle back into what it had been before, and no one would be any the wiser as to how he had managed it.

He showed up that afternoon to wait with the awkward, anonymous little line of men, their breath fogging the air. Kenny was the only one of them he recognized. He was slouching; his back resting against the iron shell wall and he startled when Kota greeted him. 

“I didn’t think you would be here today,” Kenny said, arms wrapped around his chest tightly against the cold.

“Well, this is the last time actually."

“What? Why?”

“I really needed the money,” Kota admitted, “but I’ll have enough after this.”

“Enough?” Kenny parroted and laughed. It came out of his mouth in little puffs of steam. “People never have enough money. You will come back.” 

Kota shook his head and opened his mouth to argue but then the door swung open and everyone piled in through the front office and into the back room. The inside of the warehouse wasn't much warmer than outside.

One of the cameramen kicked on the shaky convection heater and it glowed orange, slowly spreading heat through the room as they unwrapped themselves from the cold.

"Do you want to come and see the show next week?" Kota asked on impulse as Kenny unzipped his jacket. "My leg is healed so I'll be on the card for it."

"Um… maybe," said Kenny, "You don’t mind it?"

"Not at all, I'll get you in for free."

Kenny smiled but it was a strange smile. There was something off about him today, but Kota couldn't quite put his finger on it; He hadn't lost any more weight, his body as muscular as always and yet he looked small somehow, withdrawn inside his own head. Kenny caught him staring but said nothing. It always felt strange to him to hold normal conversations standing naked, as if they’d all entered a different dimension together.

Most of the regulars hadn't shown up today. Kota supposed even the larger pay wasn't enough to persuade some of them to have sex with a guy. Perhaps that reluctance was the reason for Kenny’s strange attitude too.   

The crew set up the equipment with their usual fast efficiency. Then the director pulled aside Kenny paper in hand. There weren't really scripts for the shoots, but there were briefings. Kota had never asked where they came from.

His chest began to tighten with a realization that he didn’t immediately understand, the feeling worsening when Kenny knelt alone at the end of the bed. The director spoke to the room, but his words turned to static before they could reach Kota’s brain.

The camera beeped and a man with long hair and a tattoo on his back, stepped up and slipped his dick into Kenny's mouth without preamble.

Kenny’s lips were stretched wide, his mouth pulled halfway onto the man’s cock. He had a fistful of Kenny's hair. Kenny didn't struggle.

Did it hurt? Did he like it? It was hard to tell from Kota's angle. Kenny got a hand up and wrapped his hand around the base of the man’s dick, already damp with spit. He jerked it slow, licking the head with the tip of his tongue until the tattooed man got impatient and pulled Kenny's head forward to take him in all the way again. He thrust his hips forward, still pulling Kenny's hair from behind to force him to take more. Kenny made a small noise of discomfort when the man's dick hit the back of his throat, but he didn't pull back an inch, even when his hair was released.

And now a second man was prowling up to join in the action, he jacked his cock in the direction of Kenny's face, queuing up for his turn. Kota watched, rooted to the spot. He hadn't felt this out of his depth since the first shoot.

The first man was shoving his cock in faster and deeper. It was getting hard for Kenny to set the pace, slowly losing his grip on what control he'd had over the rhythm. Saliva spilled from the side of Kenny's mouth and dripped onto the bed, he wiped it away unknowingly when he threw his hand out to keep from falling over.

The tattooed man took himself out of Kenny's mouth, his cock hard and slick against his stomach, letting the second man pick up where he left off. Kenny's lips were raw and swollen, but he kept his mouth open for the taking.

Kota was conscious of the other two men next to him starting to creep forward and he moved with the pack unconsciously, something drawing him closer. From here he could see Kenny's face properly. The men either side of Kota were pumping themselves up. Kenny's eyes skated over the three them, resting on Kota for an extra second before he looked back up at the man whose dick was in his throat. Was that apprehension or excitement? Kota couldn't work out which possibility was making his stomach twist.

Kenny's mouth was red and wet, his tongue slipping out against his bottom lip as he bobbed forward and back. The man cursed, and Kenny leaned back and smirked. He licked down the length of the cock, getting more foul language for his efforts. His eyes glanced over to Kota again who startled at the attention and felt his blood rush south. 

Kenny’s lips retreated and curved in a reassuring smile that made Kota ache. Kenny opened his mouth, but it was filled again before he could speak.

"Oi, gaijin give me your ass," ordered the man on Kota's right. He was a short man with spiky hair and a petulant face. Kenny didn't hesitate or even stop attending to the others. He went to his hands and knees like it was nothing, like he’d been waiting for it. It dimly registered in Kota's mind that Kenny knew, maybe even move for move, how this would go. It was just like a wrestling match, Kota thought with rising hysteria, and wished he’d listened more closely to the briefing. Kenny tried to look back over his shoulder at the spiky haired man until the first bastard put his fist in his hair again and yanked his head back around. The smile at the corners of Kenny's mouth had gone. His eyes were closed in concentration. The man at his ass pushed a finger into him and Kenny barked out a sharp little laugh of surprise which came out wet and gargled.

"You like that?"

Kenny hummed an affirmative around the dick in his mouth. The tattooed man took this as a cue to yank Kenny's hair closer yet again, as if he wasn’t in there deep enough to choke already. Kota was beginning to dislike him immensely. He imagined himself kicking the man away, but he'd be the one standing naked in front of Kenny, and then what? Kota managed another step, feeling like a pawn in a game of chess, crawling towards the battlefield pathetically slowly. This was the last time, he reminded himself spurring his feet on. He could leave it all behind after this. It would be like none of it had ever happened.

The fourth man overtook him, positioning himself on the far side of the rest so as not to block the greedy camera. He began to whisper things in English that Kota couldn't understand while he stroked the swells and hollows of Kenny's back. He reached down and ran his hand over Kenny's cock and the moan Kenny made was enough to make Kota jump. 

Maybe the camera wasn’t the greediest thing here, because Kota wanted so much in that moment, wanted to be all four men at once, wanted to have Kenny's mouth around his dick, wanted to fuck him with his fingers, wanted Kenny to look at him, only at him. More than anything else Kota wanted to hear him moan again. But the whisperer had taken his hands away from Kenny's dick, which stood hard and flushed against his body. They were invading him at all sides, the tattooed man’s cock down Kenny’s throat and the other one with his fingers stretching and moving in and out of Kenny’s ass. Kota’s breath caught at the way Kenny tried to squirm back and get them in deeper.

"What a slut," marveled one of them. Kenny huffed out a breath of indignation around the dick in his mouth and got a slap on the ass for his trouble. There were hands all over him, in his hair, on his neck, on his back, on his ass. All stroking and grabbing, pinching and squeezing. His body writhing under them. His skin was damp with sweat. Kota wondered how it would feel to put his tongue against Kenny's back, to put his lips over those muscles and feel them shiver and tense. Would he make another one of those noises that were going straight to Kota's dick? Maybe he-

“Hey, you, come on I need a hand here.”

Kota was shaken out of his fantasy to see everyone looking at him.

“W-what?”

“Get over here already!”

Kota stumbled over, face flushed. The tattooed man was laughing into his hand, and Kota’s dislike evolved into hatred.

“Help lift him up.”

They rolled Kenny over to lie face up and bent his legs up to his chest. He sucked in breaths, taking advantage of his temporarily empty mouth. Kota stepped forward in concern, but that was a mistake, because now Kenny was looking straight up at him. His eyes were dark with need, silently pleading, and Kota had never wanted anyone so badly.

He stood next to Kenny and held his body up, his arms burning against the warmth of Kenny’s back while Kenny jerked off the two men that had been taking turns fucking his throat. 

Another man pushed his cock into Kenny’s hole and Kota felt his back muscles shift and ripple as he admitted him. Kenny was completely lifted off the bed now, a gratuitous position that Kota was certain no one would ever do were it not for the camera’s benefit. His weight spread among the five men around him. It had nothing to recommend it apart from taking away any and all ability for Kenny to control his body. In order to escape one sensation, he had to put more of his weight to the others, and Kota held him up as he struggled so for several minutes, the man at his ass fucking him so hard he choked on the cock in his mouth with every thrust.

The man with the tattoos backed off then not wanting to come too soon, laying Kenny’s shoulders back on the bed and watching with amusement while another man took his place.

The spiky-haired man pulled out of Kenny’s ass and looked at Kota expectantly. The power of that expectation got Kota as far as standing in the space between Kenny's legs, as far as holding his own hard cock in his hand, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what to do next.

"Hurry up," one of them muttered, “we haven’t got all day.”

Kenny was watching him, his breath coming out loud and messy around the dicks still begging entry. Kota's face burned, and he couldn't imagine ever feeling cold again. He was going to burn forever, was going to explode in the heat. Kota cast his eyes down away from Kenny’s’ gaze, fumbling into position. He meant to enter Kenny carefully, not wanting to hurt him by being rough when he noticed just how thoroughly Kenny had been prepared, not just by the guy who'd fucked him before Kota but more than that. He was really wet. Kota hadn't seen him use any lube since they’d come in, though there was extra next to the cameras.

He must have done it before he got there then. Kota thought of Kenny talking to him outside the warehouse, bundled up against the cold but warm and open and wet right here. Deep inside. Kota put his finger inside him, feeling around the rim, until he felt a kick to his lower back. Kenny’s foot telling him to hurry up and fuck him already.

But now the distance between Kenny and himself was gone, Kota couldn’t find any of the fear that had thrummed beneath his skin, not just in the last few minutes but all winter long. There was no coldness no detachment. Kota had never felt so pinned to a moment as he did right then. There was no need to hurry through it. Leaving Kenny’s ass empty, he drew a stripe up Kenny’s dick instead with his wet thumb and listened, fascinated, to his reaction. A string of begging and swearing, all in English. Kota did it again, slower, taking his time tracing the shape of the blood vessels that stood out on the skin.

_“Don’t… please just… fuck! Please!”_

Kenny kicked him again, lower this time like he was trying to push Kota into him. He had let go of the other four, pushing himself up on his elbows, letting the two cocks loll out of his mouth, squirming and glaring up at Kota though what he was doing was extremely unfair. Kota reveled at being the center of his attention until someone pulled impatiently at Kenny’s arm and he collapsed back onto the bed. Kota put his whole hand around Kenny’s dick. Kenny made a sound that began as moan but rose into a sob until his mouth was again occupied.

He’d been made to wait for long enough. Kota slid his cock into Kenny’s ass and it was so easy it was like his body was sucking Kota in.

He felt Kenny slip down the bed, trying to get himself further onto Kota’s dick. Kota pulling his thighs up a little higher to help, the other four men grumbling as they had to move to keep Kenny’s hands and mouth filled. The change in position allowing even more of Kenny’s naked skin to slide against Kota’s.

Kenny stared up at him, mouth wide open, panting and jerking his hips down in a shaky rhythm. Then the men at his head kept their cocks at his lips and he licked at them, stuttering up and down with Kota's thrusts.

He was letting out more and more of the sounds that were making Kota go insane, moaning loud and wanton. Kota knew in that moment that he himself was fucked. Well and truly. Even more thoroughly than Kenny if that was possible. He knew that despite the tepid room, the four strangers that surrounded them and the hungry camera sucking the sordid picture in, he was going to spend the rest of his life wishing to be back in this moment with this beautiful person begging for him. Kenny was twisting and writhing, somehow still managing to jerk off the two men either side. He had given up on the top two, but they were taking care of themselves now, their cocks wet with his spit.  

Kota put his hands on Kenny's hips and pulled him up again, his dick inside Kenny completely. Kenny’s eyes clenched his eyes shut. He must be close by now; his cock was flushed and dripping.    

Kota fucked him until he came sobbing. The other four coming over Kenny’s face and chest, Kota, the last to finish, barely remembering to pull out and come on Kenny’s stomach.

The dream world ended abruptly at the beep of the camera.

Kenny flopped back onto the mattress panting, tears streaked down his face, hands dropping limply at his sides. The other men stepped back, all politeness now the camera was off, hurrying for towels and antibacterial wipes and their clothes. The room was lukewarm at best, but Kota was burning. Still holding Kenny’s legs around his waist.

“You can let go,” said Kenny, eyes on the ceiling.

“Yes,” Kota agreed, and finally stepped back.

 

A week later, Kota was jumping off the turnbuckle; back in the ring where he belonged. He threw his brain and body into the matches with an enthusiasm that echoed back to him in the crowd's roar. Business was booming and now he was back at the heart of it, the nonstop schedule of shows and training swallowed up his free time. It was good to be back. It was great to be back. Even better to be away from the warehouse, with no chance of running into anyone he shouldn’t.

Kenny had ruined his life. Of this Kota was becoming increasingly certain. He couldn’t sleep. When he closed his eyes at night, his thoughts drifted back to that shoot every time, it played on a continuous loop in his mind’s internal cinema.

His biggest mistake had been learning Kenny's name. If he’d never learned Kenny’s name, he wouldn’t have been able to search for him online. The videos they’d filmed together hadn’t been uploaded, nor any of the others Kenny had done for people that had been paying them both all winter. Not yet.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately) Kenny had a large body of work besides that. The flimsy story lines and cheesy American dialogue were lost on Kota, but it didn’t matter. Kenny's moans and choking sobs were a language all their own.

Kota watched the videos again and again. He’d found more group videos first and despised them until he saw the first one-on-one video, and that feeling was eclipsed in the subsequent black hole of jealousy he hadn’t known himself capable of. But the more he hated the videos the more he re-watched them. It didn't help, he was chasing longing with longing and it only made him ache in the morning.

"You look terrible." Michael told him bluntly. “What’s wrong with you now? Is it the leg again? Have you been sleeping?"

“Not really.”

“Come out with us tonight,” Michael suggested, “Whatever it is, beer will help.”

 

Getting drunk with the others in their usual place, Kota did feel the world slotting back to how it should be. Kota toasted with the president, then with Michael, then with Kudo. Then one of the fans was so happy Kota was back in the ring that he bought another round for everyone and so the evening continued in such a way, until Kota went to use the restroom and his heart nearly stopped.

Kenny was there. Sitting at the bar. Talking to Michael _again_ , because the universe hated him. If his brain had been processing just a little faster, he might have thought run out the door, pack his bags immediately and moved to Antarctica. Failing that, he could have at least caught the train home, watched more videos alone in his room and maybe cried himself to sleep. That would have been perfect.

_"Oh cool. I didn't know, I was working today so I couldn't come in any case."_

_"I thought your work was all about coming?"_ asked Michael with a smirk and Kenny burst out laughing.  

"What is it now?" Kota muttered.

Michael waved him off still sniggering, "Ah... it doesn't really translate sorry. It's not that funny."

"You wrestled tonight too?" Kenny asked him, his brilliant blue eyes freezing Kota where he stood. "Amazing!"

Kota nodded stiffly.

“Who won?”

“Me.”

“Great!”

Kota couldn't meet Kenny's eyes. He couldn't do this. He didn't see how Kenny could either. How could he just stand there making causal conversation when... The silence stretched awkwardly until Kenny took a step back, giving up and going back to Michael Nakazawa’s easier company.

_“So, Kenny, any hot women you can introduce me to?”_

Kota turned towards the bar with the vague intention of getting another drink. Kenny's eyes flicked back to his when he moved, and it felt like an electric shock. Kota kept his eyes on his shoes, made his apologies and ducked away.

He had to find some way to numb this feeling or he was certain he would die, or worse, say something incredibly stupid and give himself away. That was if Kenny didn't tell Michael anyway. Kota stayed at the bar for the rest of the evening, waiting for the world to come crashing down around him and drinking heavily with Kudo and Harashima. He didn’t dare to look behind him, terrified of catching sight of Kenny again, not wanting him to have left either.

Michael came for another drink at one point. Pushing in between Kota and Kudo and then reaching an arm out to steady Kota when he almost fell off the stool. "Shit man, how much have you had?" 

Kota struggled and nearly fell again. "I'm okay, where's your friend?"

Michael frowned. "I thought you knew him? You were with him last time, right? He's talking to Takagi." Michael pointed, and Kota didn't turn to look, he'd only fall again. "It's been ages since I practiced my English."

"What did he tell you?" asked Kota wretchedly.

"Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not being weird!"

Michael raised his eyebrows. He brought his drink and left Kota to his misery.

An hour later, Kota and Kudo somersaulted off the tables into each other and their whole group was invited to get the fuck out of the establishment, which they did without too much grumbling. It was getting late. The party stumbled out onto the street and dispersed, Kota walking with a few other guys until they peeled off and made for their own stations.

The nights were getting warmer now and it was pleasant to walk down the street with the moon above. If only walking in a straight line wasn’t proving such a challenge. Kota wished the sidewalk would stop tilting up and down.

"Hey!"

There was no mistaking that voice. Kota staggered around, despair and lust settling over him.

"Please don't worry, okay? I said to Michael I met you at the gym. He knew, he knew already that we'd met so..."

"Okay."

Kota leaned against a telephone pole, pressing his head into the pleasant coolness of the metal as Kenny caught up to him.  

"I wouldn't tell! I promised you I wouldn't tell," Kenny said fiercely, his eyes sparkling. Kota saw in his mind’s eye the way Kenny had looked writhing under him. Shameless and desperate, and yet he had his own pride. Even a person without dignity could have pride.

Kota peeled his face off the pole, tried to walk and felt his legs collapse beneath him.

" _Woah you’re really wasted._ How did you flip off the table like this?"

"Flipping and walking are different," Kota mumbled into Kenny's chest as he was hauled to his feet.

Kota felt his own body trust that strength implicitly. Thick arms encircled his waist, steadying Kota enough for him to find his feet. He could feel Kenny's chest expanding when he inhaled, and Kota found himself leaning into it, not just because remaining upright was hard, but because every inch of his body was longing to be closer to Kenny and in his current condition, he was having trouble remembering why he should be denying it.

“Are you going to throw up on me?”

“The chance is not zero,” Kota admitted.

Kenny let go of him. Kota swayed slightly but managed not to fall over. Kenny's face was flushed pink, but he didn't look the least bit drunk. Kota couldn't remember him having a drink in his hand all night. He'd been watching.

“Where do you live? Let me take you to house, to _your_ house I mean.”

“Like I’d just tell you! Privacy remember!” What a joke, as if that mattered anymore, Kota had never felt so exposed in his life, so cracked open. He shook his head and giggled at the ground.

"Do you have a phone? Can you call someone to pick you up?"

Kota staggered into him again and Kenny caught him by the shoulders, his lips tightening.

“No.” Kota put his feet apart, breathed in and felt the hysteria inside him fade. Kenny's hands stayed on him. His thumb stroked soothingly over Kota’s shoulder, where muscle met collarbone. He looked again at Kenny's face, not drunk but still blushing. What did he have to feel embarrassed about? This shameless, brash person. Kota couldn't bear it any longer. He felt the last of his resolve break and fall away. 

"Take me home with you."

“What?!” It was Kenny's turn to laugh, more of a bitter chuckle than Kota's uncontrolled giggling. "That's not happening. Sorry Mr mystery wrestler."

"My name is Ibushi Kota, please let me stay at your house," Kota begged.

Kenny shook his head again.

"Too far," he explained.

"You missed the last train?"

Kenny gently let go of Kota for a second time, checking he wasn’t going to keel over. He folded his arms and rubbed them against the cold. "Maybe. Can I take you to your street? I can't leave you like this."

"I’m fine!"

“You can’t stand up!” Kenny’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “Is it _that_ bad to be seen with me? So embarrassing? No one knows my job unless I tell. Your neighbors aren’t going to know you were in a porno because I walk down the street with you.”

“It’s not that.” Kota shook his head and the world sloshed up and down around him.

“Okay, okay, maybe we go back to the bar? If your friends are still there, I’ll give you to them, they don’t have to see us talking. Is that okay?”

“But then you’ll go,”

“So? You’ll be happy then, won’t you?” Kenny snapped, his face was red and he was starting to shiver.

“That’s not what I want,” replied Kota forlornly, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

Kenny looked confused, trying to process the meaning of the words. Kota stepped towards him, careful not to lose balance and brushed a strand of Kenny’s hair out of his eyes.

“Oh… oh.”

Understanding dawned.

Kota had a set of keys to the back door of Shin-kiba in his pocket, having helped lock up hours before and not had the chance to return them. It wasn’t the first time he'd ended up there after drinking too late. Thankfully no one else had the same idea that night. The place was completely deserted, the raucous atmosphere of a few hours ago a distant memory. It was all shut up now for the next two days, if Kota's memory served, there was nothing on at all until Sunday.

“Wow! This is your wrestling ring?! Awesome!”

Kenny’s amazement echoed around the empty hall as Kota led him by the hand past the ring and into the backstage offices. The sofa there was threadbare and torn in places but once Kota pulled the heavy cushions off and arranged them on the floor, they made a serviceable mattress. The building didn’t have much in the way of insulation. Kota found a box of old ring aprons and tossed one onto the cushions. It would have to do. Kota flung himself onto the bed and under the makeshift cover.

Doing this was beginning to feel like a stupid decision. Kota realized to his displeasure that he was starting to sober up.

Maybe he should have just taken Kenny home, after all he'd already let him in there. All Kota did there now was watch those damn videos. At least in the ring, or at training he'd been prevented from thinking of him. Now would he think of Kenny every time he sat in this room waiting for his match to start? Every time he looked at the cushions of the sofa they had pulled onto the floor? Would there be any way of escaping him?

"Why did you have to make my life so difficult?" Kota asked, face squashed into the cushion.

"Please Ibushi-san, I’m working on the Japanese, but I don't understand sofa." Kenny shuffled closer and lay down next to him, pulling the ring apron up to cover them both. It was plastic and stiff, but it trapped their shared body heat under it well. It was a long moment before Kota found the words he needed. He lay listening to Kenny’s breathing, both of them waiting.

"I've been thinking about you a lot," Kota confessed. "I watched all your videos. Since that time... you're always in my head."

"Really?" Kenny’s expression was hidden in the darkness.

"Yes.”

The gap between them was too large all of a sudden. Kenny’s hand was between them and it shifted a little, inching across the expanse. Kota plucked it from where it hesitated and helped it find its way under his shirt.

“Your fingers are cold,” Kota reproached. Kenny poked his stomach lightly, sticking out his tongue. Kota closed his eyes and felt Kenny’s hand warm up in the dark. His fingers tracked down to Kota’s belly and then back up as far as his sternum, occasionally rubbing over a rib. 

"Can I come and watch you wrestle?"

“Yes,” said Kota agreeing without a thought. Where Kenny touched his skin buzzed. He wanted more of it, higher, lower and in all directions. But the hand seemed reluctant to leave the boundaries it had established. I’ve fucked you, Kota thought. I’ve been inside you and you’re shy. But Kota was running up against the same reluctance in himself. There was no necessity to perform here to force them forward. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes again, afraid that if he did it would break that line they were skirting so closely. He felt the edge of Kenny’s fingernail catch on his chest. 

“I want to.”

“Mmm?”

“I want to watch you wrestle.” Kenny’s fingers had detoured across Kota’s chest, softly pressing at the thick muscle of his pectoral. “If you watched my videos. It’s only fair right?” Please press deeper. Begged every cell of Kota’s body. Please push further. Please go lower.  

“Yes,” Kota whispered.

Kenny’s finger was looping around his nipple.

“Did you like the videos Ibushi-san?”

“No,” Kota admitted. Kenny’s fingers stopped moving.

“Why not?” Kenny’s mouth was so close Kota could feel his breath as he spoke. “You said you watched all of them,” Kenny persisted. “Why? If you didn’t like them?” His thumb slid over Kota’s nipple and broke whatever reluctance had been holding Kota back. He rolled closer to Kenny so that only a sliver of space was left to separate them. “Why?” Kota couldn’t answer, didn’t want to answer.

He kissed him instead, and Kenny’s mouth melted against his. Kota felt his nervousness burn to ashes on the wind and blow away. He deepened the kiss and felt Kenny’s body shift against his, but when he tried to drive their hips closer, cupping Kenny’s ass and pulling him in, Kenny pushed him back.

“You’re so drunk.”

Kenny’s words were hot on his face.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I can taste it in your mouth,” Kenny said firmly. “Go to sleep. I don’t want you waking up in the morning feeling like...like...” 

“I won’t,” Kota mumbled. He made a last half-hearted attempt to catch Kenny’s lips and Kenny let him for a minute or two, before pushing him back into the blankets. Kota drifted off to sleep, face first in the cushions, still holding Kenny's hand captive under his shirt.


End file.
